


4. Fanwork Mastery

by Wolves_of_Innistrad



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, super power sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 23:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5889640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolves_of_Innistrad/pseuds/Wolves_of_Innistrad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Len and Barry are both enamored with fanworks that the other created and have a little too much fun appreciating said works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	4. Fanwork Mastery

> _ Flash was practically vibrating with need.  He knew it was wrong, knew that giving in to this carnal desire would only lead to trouble.  And yet, he couldn’t seem to keep his cool around Captain Cold, around Snart, no, Len, anymore. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Lithe fingers grasped the front of that damnable parka, pulling the other man closer, so close that when Len’s breath puffed into the air it ghosted over Flash’s lips, like winter’s kiss.  Oh how he trembled at that, the barest hint of contact, the tease of more to come, if only, if only he could get over himself. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ A cool smirk rested on Len’s face.  It wasn’t cold or calculating this time, but amused, interested.  The cold gun rested safely holstered at his hip, a constant pressure against his thigh, the cold seeping through his pants, but warmed by the new proximity to the Flash.  To the object of his desires. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ It’d taken a long while to admit this, but he’d always had a thing for twinks, and for all reservations about certain types of porn, the leather was certainly suited to that youthful, toned body.  His own hands rested on the other’s hips, thumbs rubbing at the material, so warm against his palms, a welcome relief from the chill of his weapon. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ The seconds ticked by, and for once Len lost count of them, but not before his mind recognized their silence had went on interminably long.  A tilt of the head, lick of the lips, and the Flash’s attention drew back to his eyes, catching for the first time since they’d moved closer.   _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Well, well, it looks like I finally found a way to slow you down, Flash.” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ The Flash smiled, dazzling even in the low light emitted from the streetlights up above.  His head shook as he gave the older man an incredulous look.  “Really?  Puns even now?” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “What, you going to give me the cold shoulder if I don’t stop, Flash?” Len’s retort was full of mirth, and the way the smile extended to his eyes made the costumed hero weak in the knees.  A difficult feat for a man who runs at his speed. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Does this look cold to you?”  Before Len knew what was going on, the world seemed to fly by in flashes and suddenly they were in a room he’d never seen before. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Len whistled, a high timbred sound that escaped in a whoosh as he turned to the room.  “Bringing a man back to your place, you really do move fast, huh?”   _
> 
>  
> 
> _ The Flash didn’t say anything, just pulled off that cowl to reveal a mess of hair, repeating his early action and reeling Cold in by the sides of the parka.   _
> 
>  
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> _ Their lips pressed against each other and what he’d expected to be a battle, a fight for dominance like every other time was instead a communion.  A joining of two opposites that somehow balanced out.  Neither pulled away until they were both panting for air, and once they did, it only took moments for the accoutrements of their assumed identities to fall away, discarded haphazardly about the room as they hastened towards the bed. _
> 
>  
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> _ The Flash, no, Ryder he’d asked to be called, lay against the pristine sheets.  His body arched and writhed as those cool lips traveled along overheated skin, tracing imaginary lines across shoulders, over ribs and abdominals.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Len!” the man groaned, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the pillow beneath his head as his nemesis took him into his mouth.  The sight was obscene, watching the man swallow him down easily, Len’s own manhood hanging heavy between his legs, a sight to behold.  Intimidating and enticing all at once.  Ryder was going to be in for a long night.   _
> 
>  
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> _ A long, hard night.   _

 

“ Losing Track of Time ” by  **WithColdOnTop**

 

XXXXX

 

“Fuck!” Barry whimpered as he pushed away from his computer.  Top had done it again.  Yet another fic that had him itching to unbuckle his pants, pull himself out and just let go.  There were quite a few that he’d bookmarked, and this wasn’t even one of the longer ones, but it had been an early one, before Top had really found his voice, and those were always some of his favorites.

 

It was an odd thought, but it seemed more real in a way, not tainted by what others had written yet, flowing freely from the other person’s mind onto the page, or browser as it were.  

 

Barry saved the fic and picked his laptop up, moving over towards the bed.  Stepping towards the door, he made sure it was locked before turning on some music.  He definitely didn’t want Joe to know what he was doing.

 

The lube sat in his drawer, practically taunting him until he grabbed it and tossed it on the bed, along with a few tissues for easy cleanup afterwards.  He stripped out of his clothes, taking his time instead of flashing out of them like usual.  Barry wanted to save that buzzing energy beneath his skin a bit longer.

 

The bed felt soft against his skin, cool, but certainly not as cool as his little alter ego felt having Len’s lips all over his body.  He bet the man was cold, but considering how hot Barry ran most days he figured that’d be a bonus, not a drawback.

 

And that was what level he’d stooped to; not only reading about himself having sex with his nemesis, but being actively jealous of the created civilian alter ego of the Flash in the Top’s fics.  At least he’d picked a good writer, the last time he tried this he got into it without reading the tags and had gotten a shock when The Trickster showed up in the fic and he’d exited out so fast, but too late, the mental image had already ruined that author for him.

 

That was one of the reason’s he liked Top, the author only wrote ColdFlash, so he never had to worry about someone else getting involved.  Finally deciding to follow the fake Barry in the fic—or rather, Ryder—and just get over his own roiling internal drama, Barry began to stroke himself as he reread the lurid details of Cold sucking his counterpart off.

 

This was about the only place he went slowly anymore.  This  was the one thing he could afford to drag out and let simmer, allow that heat to pool in his gut until it spilled over and consumed him in that purifying wave of pleasure.

 

Deft fingers circled his head, letting his pre-cum act as a natural lubricant as his eyes scanned the page, soaking in each detail, imagining exactly how it’d feel to have the older man swallowing around him, nose pressed to his treasure trail, tongue flicking over the head first, then the underside and driving him wild.

 

A gasp followed his shuddering breath as the pleasure began to seep into his joints, relaxing him and helping him let go of the anxiety that riddled him.  He still wasn’t sure why he felt this way about these fics or what exactly it meant in the real world, but here in the sanctuary of his own room, he could indulge whatever stupid, licentious fantasies he wanted.

 

He stopped for a moment as the narrative, and Cold’s mouth, moved lower.  He wasn’t ready for that, not yet.  He took his time, picturing everything in his mind, working himself up well and good until his legs began to slide open, feet planted firmly on the bed.

 

Searching out the bottle of lube, he coated two fingers before pressing them to his entrance and rubbing around the rim.  The wait was killing him now, but he had to be slow, even more so if he really wanted to give it to himself good tonight and, judging by the fic he was reading, he was aiming for that.

 

By the time he was writhing around, one finger sinking into that hot heat, the Cold, the Len in the story had moved onto two, and so he picked up his pace, if only a little.  When he caught up, he curled his fingers, pressing them against his prostate and vibrating.

 

Barry cried out, a broken sob that he only stifled by biting his lip almost hard enough to draw blood.  This was one thing that he knew the real Len couldn’t do to him, but that didn’t matter much as he began to lose track of anything but the vibrations coursing through his entire body.  His face scrunched up in pleasure and longing, eyes getting a bit bleary as he attempted to keep reading, skimming most of it now, only catching words here and there.

 

He knew what was going to happen, what always happened in these fics, but when the fictional Len had Ryder sobbing on three thick, calloused fingers, Barry was pressing that third of his own inside and twisting.  It was the most glorious torture, and he could almost believe that Len would enjoy that, knowing that even in his fantasies he was beating Barry.

 

Barry lost track of what was going on somewhere around the time he hit his first orgasm and the fic was almost done.  He just kept going, keeping his digits buried deep, exploring his own body, dragging his senses to new heights.  The thrum of speed against that spot was electrifying, coursing through his veins, blood roaring in exultation.

 

His stomach was coated in a mix of dried, flaking release and newer, still warm cum pooling on his belly.  The tissues came in handy now, wiping his body down before leaving kudos on the work he’d been perusing and logging out for the night.  He could probably go at least once more, but he was satisfied for now.  Besides, he didn’t really feel like searching for another story that would get him going again.  Closing his laptop, he pushed all thoughts of Len, of Top, and anyone else from his mind as best he could and closed his eyes.

 

XXXXX

 

It wasn’t often that Len wished he had longer hair, but right now, as he tried to run his fingers through nonexistent locks, he regretted always shaving it.  

 

Honestly Nerd’s art made him angry at moments.  Not because it was bad or anything like that but because it was the biggest tease.  He had Len pegged exactly, the art so lifelike when he went for realistic that he didn’t even have to imagine it was him, it just was.  The worst of it though was that it made him ache for it to be real.  It wasn’t something he was proud of, nor something he let himself think of often, but when he did break down and let himself feel, he knew it to be true.

 

Right now his arms were wrapped around himself tightly, clutching at biceps as he stared in consternation and maybe a bit of longing, at the newest fanart Nerd had posted.  Ten seconds, that’s how much longer he’d allow himself to look at this particular drawing.

 

One second…  The Flash’s arms encircling Len’s middle.

 

Two seconds…  His parka’s hood pulled down to reveal his face.

 

Three seconds…  Len’s face turning to look back at the Flash.

 

Four seconds…  The bright, shy smile as the Flash looks back at Len like he’s all he can see.

 

Five seconds…  The faint blush creeping into Len’s cheeks, surely nothing to do with the cold.

 

Six seconds…  Flash’s hands skimming over the hem of Len’s shirt.

 

Seven seconds…  Fingers brushing over the barest hint of skin peeking out from where his shirt is riding up.

 

Eight seconds…  One arm reaching up to pull the Flash closer to him.

 

Nine seconds…  Another hand coming to rest over the Flash’s.

 

Ten seconds…  Both of them looking so happy, so complete, so carefree.

 

Tearing his eyes away he blinked rapidly, trying to clear the image from his mind, but losing that fight handily.  Certainly this one was bad, it made him think things, feel things, but he knew how he could get over this.

 

The cursor moved to that little bar, finding his Bookmarks and searching through the short list.  It wasn’t something he could devote much time to, stealing and ditching laptops as often as he did, but these few he had saved to a private e-mail address, copying each URL and saving them again with each new iteration of laptop he acquired.

 

Only a few moments later and Len was treated with one of his favorites.  The Flash lay on his back on a bed, face and most of his upper body obscured, drawn to look as if you were seeing through his eyes.  His toned abdominals were on full display though, a little tuft of hair right at the waist of his sleep pants that hung low on his hips.

 

That would have been enough to get Len going if he were painfully honest, although there was something even better that often caught his eye.  In between the Flash’s legs was himself, Len in all his Captain Cold regalia.  One knee bent on the bed as he climbed on, the other still balancing him on the floor.  Eyes obscured by his goggles, but the way Nerd drew his face was, well, it was exactly how he’d be looking at Barry if he had him all to himself.

 

Even without seeing his eyes, the sensuality, the carnal desire was all there.  The way his lips were turned up in a smirk, but not just any smirk, a pleased one, a teasing one, not just his typical devil may care twitch of lips.  This was about as close to actual smut as he figured Nerd was likely to get and it both stunned him and infuriated him.  The guy could probably draw some of the best erotic art he’d ever seen if he’d just get over his prudishness,  or whatever it was, and slap a few cocks on the page.

 

Of course, Len respected his wishes, that he didn’t draw that kind of art, and, if he were so inclined, he might even think it sweet that the other man could refrain from turning the ship as intensely sexual as he had.  Then again, Nerd didn’t have to actually deal with Scarlet running in circles around him all the time, flaunting that lithe young body in all that form fitting leather, or whatever it was Cisco had made the suit out of.

 

He’d considered writing a fic for this drawing once, but he wasn’t sure of Nerd would be flattered or upset, so he’d held off.  Maybe one day he’d ask him about it, but for now he kept this one to himself.

 

As his imagination began to pick up the story where the picture left off he unzipped his pants and pulled himself out.  His cock was heavy in his hand, not quite hard yet, but it’s considerable mass more than enough to heft even without full arousal.  Soon enough it would be as he leaned back, eyes closed, wishing, not for the first time, that his fantasies could come alive on the page in real time as he saw them in his head.  It’d save him so much time writing his little fanfiction works if he could just use his own masturbatory fantasies.

 

He often did that anyway, but killing two birds with one stone would be helpful since he didn’t have as much time as he liked to just sit down and write most nights what with his frequent stints, however short lived, in Iron Heights and planning crimes while also trying to rein in the Rogues.

 

A breathy gasp left his lips as his twentieth stroke came up, sucking the bottom lip between his teeth.  His thumb rolled over the pink tip, filled with blood and sensitive to the touch.  Pre-cum smeared over his fingers and hand, adding a bit of much needed lubrication as he continued to increase his pace.  It figured the one thing he often did fast, ironically, would be the one time he’d slow down when it involved the Flash.

 

The sweater he was wearing was made of thick wool, and he used his free hand to pull it up, in part to keep it clean when he inevitably tipped over the edge, and also to allow access to his nipples, which he began to pinch and tweak.  His breathing came faster now, counting off the seconds as he neared orgasm, a practiced amount of time, ever changing, but still controlled, still parsed out.  

 

With Mick and Lisa’s unpredictability he always had to keep pace, find out how fast he could cum when he had to get off, but also how long he could push himself when it was him and him alone in the safe house.  Tonight was not going to be one of those long nights of edging though, however he may want it.

 

As he imagined Barry on the floor beneath the squalid table, knees of his jeans scuffed up by the dingy old tiles, lips red and swollen as they slipped around his aching cock, he felt the heat pool in his stomach.  One, two, three more strokes and he was arching into the chair, striping his stomach with his release and panting as he came down from it. 

 

Grabbing a rag from the table he wiped himself off, smearing a bit of grease that was on the rag across his belly and frowning.  Now he’d really need a shower.  Making a note to go back and save the newest piece of art from Nerd to his little collection, he cleared his browser history and locked the computer before shutting it off and heading back to what counted for a room here.  At least he’d have warm water for the shower, and thanks to his quick session just now, he’d actually be able to endure that instead of a cold one.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy this! I had a lot of fun writing this and reading everyone's stories! This was my first time doing something like this, but it was so much fun I'd love to do it again! Also of note, the "fic" quoted at the beginning is something I wrote, but attributed to Len having wrote in this au, in case that's confusing. It is not from someone else's work XD
> 
> As always, a big thank you to all my Wonderful Readers for all their comments, kudos and subs!


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